


clean out of air in my lungs

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (really that's blink and you'll miss it), Angst, Christmas, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Family Dinners, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Sibling Incest, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dylan’s never really been dumped, not by anyone he loved, anyways, but he always suspected that it wasn’t fun. Getting dumped by his brother? So many magnitudes worse than anything he ever imagined.





	clean out of air in my lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonesnuggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/gifts).



> Title from _Sober_ by Lorde.

Dylan goes home for Christmas knowing full well that it’s a terrible idea. He had about a hundred excuses ready when he talked to his mom on the phone; he didn’t use any of them because he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her like that.

It’s nice, being back. The tree looks as good as it does every year, the smell of his mom’s amazing cooking is spreading through the house and Dylan allows himself to relax and enjoy it, a small glimmer of hope growing in his chest that perhaps it’ll be just like when they were kids, before everything got so fucked up.

Ryan isn’t there yet, so Dylan only has Matty’s ass to kick at Chel and he spends most of Christmas day doing just that, until his mom tells Matt to get dressed and asks Dylan to help her set the table.

Dylan gets the nice plates and silverware out from the dining room cabinet, the ones they only ever use on special occasions. The fancy tablecloth is already on the table and his mom has put a pretty centerpiece on it as well, so all that’s left for Dylan to do is set five places and get the wine glasses from the kitchen.

“Honey, we need six settings,” his mom says when she walks by the table. “Ryan’s bringing his girlfriend, didn’t he tell you?”

It feels like someone has sucked all the air out of Dylan’s lungs. He stares at his mom, trying not to gasp for air. There’s a weird static buzzing in his ear and maybe he’s dying, suffocating from how much this hurts.

He’s probably going to have a meltdown any minute now and with no way of explaining it to her, he just croaks, “No, he didn’t.” He turns around quickly to avoid looking at his mom and crouches down in front of the cabinet to get one more plate. A plate for Ryan’s fucking girlfriend, who Dylan knows nothing about.

His hands are shaking as he lifts the delicate porcelain, so he presses it against his chest and waits for his mom to disappear before he gets up and sets another place with dread pooling in his stomach.

He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to hide in his room, or better yet, run away and catch a plane back to the fucking desert.

The doorbell rings and a second later, Dylan hears Ryan’s voice coming from the hallway, because Ryan let himself in with his key, like he always does. 

“Mom? Dad? We’re here!” he calls and Dylan’s heart hurts like maybe it wants to stop beating, so he won’t have to live through this day.

Dylan stays where he is while his parents and Matty hurry to the hallway. He listens to the chorus of hello’s and nice-to-meet-you’s and Ryan’s girlfriend’s laugh. 

They all move on through into the living room eventually. Seeing Ryan is like a punch to the gut. He looks so  _ good _ , in his dress pants and a sweater Dylan knows is incredibly soft to the touch. He knows what it’s like to slip his hands underneath the fabric to feel Ryan’s skin, too. 

“There he is,” Ryan says without meeting Dylan’s eyes. One of his hands is resting on the small of his girlfriend’s back and he leads her up to Dylan and says, “That’s my other little brother, Dylan.” 

Dylan can’t help but notice that she’s beautiful, graceful even, around Ryan’s age. She smiles at Dylan as she stretches out her hand for him to shake. 

“Dylan, this is Jenny,” Ryan says.

Dylan shakes Jenny’s hand, his gaze fixed to a point to the side of her head. “Hi,” he says and tries for a smile. He’s not sure he succeeds, but the way things are going, he should probably be satisfied he’s not bursting out in tears. 

Dylan’s never really been dumped, not by anyone he loved, anyways, but he always suspected that it wasn’t fun. Getting dumped by his brother? So many magnitudes worse than anything he ever imagined. 

 

#

 

Through dinner, Dylan gets to hear all about how Ryan and Jenny met when Ryan took his dog to the vet. Apparently, Jenny’s dog fell now in love with Ryan’s. Now Jenny and Ryan are also in love; it’s all very sweet and it makes Dylan want to scream.

He doesn’t talk much and hopes it’s not too noticeable. Their parents are trying to learn everything about Jenny, probably because she’s the first girl Ryan has brought home since high school, so they’re just asking a lot of questions, most of which Ryan replies to, with Jenny chiming in every now and then. 

Matt’s keeping quiet, too, though he’s also busy stuffing his face at record speed while Dylan has lost all semblance of an appetite. He does eat everything his mom loads onto his plate anyway, but he mostly stares at his food and tries not to listen when Jenny talks about the first date Ryan took her on.

He’s made it all the way through dessert when he feels someone’s foot kicking at his ankle. It can’t be Matty, who’s next to him, and his parents don’t kick him under tables considering that they’re grown-ups. 

Technically, Ryan is also a grown-up, just not enough to use his words, or his brain, because if he knew how to do that then maybe he wouldn’t have brought his girlfriend to family Christmas.

Dylan refuses to look up and after a moment, Ryan kicks him again, harder this time. Dylan snaps his head up and meets Ryan’s eyes for the first time that night. He hopes Ryan can see only his anger and none of his broken heart.

“What?” Dylan asks, voice flat.

“Jenny asked you a question, sweetie,” his mom says quickly, because she always knows when to diffuse a situation between brothers before it can turn into a fight.

Dylan keeps his eyes on Ryan’s as long as he can before looking over to Jenny. He doesn’t apologize for not listening, just raises an eyebrow at her. Jenny doesn’t seem fazed by it at all, which probably means Ryan has told her a thing or two about Dylan. The thought alone is infuriating.

“You play hockey, too, right?” Jenny repeats.

The question irritates Dylan endlessly, it’s so stupid. “Yeah, we all kinda do,” Dylan says, gesturing between Ryan, Matty and himself. He’s not going to give her more than that if she can’t come up with a question she doesn’t already know the answer to.

“Dylan plays in Arizona,” Ryan jumps in, smooth as ever. He’s not looking at Dylan anymore. “And Matt is a prospect for Philadelphia.” 

“Yup, but I’m playing in the A right now,” Matt says, shrugging. He’s happy with where he is, always knew he would need to develop his game a lot before he’d make the league. It’s easier, Dylan thinks, because he wasn’t a first round pick. No one expected him to make the league right away. 

“What’s the A?” Jenny asks.

Dylan can’t fucking believe it. What is Ryan doing with someone who doesn’t even know enough about hockey to know the American League? All Dylan can think, while Matty explains how the affiliation between NHL club and farm team works, is that all of this feels like one incredibly bad joke.

“I guess I still have a lot to learn about hockey,” Jenny says with an apologetic smile. 

“I’m surprised Ryan hasn’t talked your ears off about all this stuff,” Dylan’s dad says with a chuckle. “How long has it been again?”

“Oh, just over four months, I think. Right, honey?”

“Yes, since sometime in early August,” Ryan confirms.

Dylan can feel the blood rushing through his veins, anger rising like an unstoppable force. Thankfully, his mom picks that moment to start clearing the table and Dylan gets up quickly, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors with an unpleasant sound. 

“No, mom, let me,” he says and gathers the plates she had already stacked from her. His mom looks surprised. 

“Oh, well thank you, sweetheart,” she says. Dylan gives her a quick smile and somehow manages to get the plates into the kitchen without smashing them against the nearest wall. 

Fucking Ryan. Fucking Ryan, who fucking cheated because he didn’t even have the balls to break up with Dylan before finding himself someone new. Dylan wants to punch someone and he thinks Ryan deserves for it to be him. Dylan wishes he could throw a punch, but it’d probably just make him look as pathetic as he feels. 

He doesn’t notice Matty coming into the kitchen with more dirty dishes until he asks, “Are you okay?”

Dylan forces himself to take a breath because Matty is the last person he wants to snap at right now.

He’s almost glad he’s gotten so good at lying to his family over the past two years. Matty seems to accept it when he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine,” and ruffles Matty’s hair, ruining the effortlessly cool style Matty always spends too much time on. 

“Ugh, Dylan!” Matty says and punches Dylan’s arm. He quickly disappears into the hallway, most likely to get a look at himself in the mirror. Dylan leans against the kitchen counter and runs a hand over his face, wishing desperately that the night was already over. 

 

#

 

When everyone is gathered around the tree, they exchange gifts.

They usually get their parents a joint gift and Dylan just said yes to the first thing Ryan suggested in the group chat, to avoid prolonged discussions on the subject. They’ve booked them a week in a nice hotel in Banff and their parents are excited about it.

“We could go up to Edmonton after and see you play!” their mom says, and Dylan suspects that may have been Ryan’s plan all along. Dylan doesn’t care. He also doesn’t care that he still owes Ryan the money for the gift, but as far as he’s concerned, Ryan won’t get it if he doesn’t ask.

Jenny gets her gifts next; a lovely scarf from their parents, and a sparkly necklace from Ryan. Her eyes go wide when she sees it. 

“Can you help me put it on?” she asks Ryan, and Dylan really has to witness the most cliché heterosexual gift giving thing possible as Ryan gently drapes Jenny’s hair over her left shoulder and places the necklace around her neck. 

“There,” he says and Jenny makes a delighted sound and turns around to throw her arms around Ryan and kiss him. 

Dylan wants to look away, but the miserable part of him keeps his eyes glued to this perfect picture of a couple in love, kissing under the Christmas tree. 

He wants to scream.

As soon as it’s Dylan’s turn to open his gifts, he feels a weird sense of anticipation settle in his stomach. 

He brought the gift he got for Ryan months ago, but it’s still upstairs in the drawer of his nightstand. Ryan laughed at the stupid reindeer socks and the insane amount of Skittles Dylan got him at the last minute instead. Dylan always liked to tease Ryan about his addiction to the colorful candy.

Dylan plans on throwing the other gift away. It’s personalized, so he can’t return it, and keeping it would be worse.

He gets concert tickets and a book from his parents, who are still trying to get him to read more even at 21, and Matty gives him a nice pair of sneakers. Dylan doesn’t want anything from Ryan, but of course that’s not really an option.

His palms are sweaty when takes the gift Ryan is holding out for him; Dylan is careful so their fingers don’t touch. He rips the paper off unceremoniously to hide that his hands are shaking a little. 

It’s a sweater. Dylan almost laughs because it’s so boring and detached, literally the worst Christmas gift of them all.

He’s about to thank Ryan when he sees the bloodstain on the inside of the right sleeve and the tiny hole that’s ripped open near the seam, it’s edges a little frayed. The words die in his throat. 

It’s not a new sweater. It’s Ryan’s sweater. The one he wore, years ago, when it was just the two of them hiking in the woods near their family cabin. The one he stopped the bleeding with, when Dylan kissed him for the first time and Ryan pushed him away too hard and Dylan fell, a sharp stone cutting deep into his hand. 

Dylan feels tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly shoves the sweater into the gift bag with his other gifts, so no one will see. 

“Thanks, Ryan,” he forces past his lips, looking down at his lap. 

There’s a short silence before Dylan’s mom says, “Alright, that’s everyone!” and the others start chatting or examining their gifts again. It’s as good an excuse as any to get up. Nobody except Ryan seems to notice and Dylan can’t meet his eyes because he’s barely keeping it together at this point. He quietly slips away. 

 

#

 

Dylan hears the terrace door slide open and for a few seconds, the sounds from the living room spill out into the night. Then, the door is shut again and only the cold silence remains. Dylan keeps breathing, tries to let the crisp air calm him. 

He knows it’s Ryan even before he speaks. 

“Mom wants to know what’s going on with you,” Ryan says. He takes a couple of steps out into the darkness, towards Dylan. 

“Leave me alone,” Dylan says. 

“Dyls.” Ryan’s voice is calm. He sounds so reasonable. Like he hasn’t fucked up Dylan’s life and broken his heart.

“Fuck you, Ryan. Fuck your so fucking much. You fucking dick,” he spits out. It needs saying and he would scream it at Ryan’s face if he didn’t think everyone inside would hear. 

“I’m sorry, Dylan, just let me-” 

“Well I don’t fucking forgive you, so you can just go fuck yourself.” Dylan doesn’t want to hear Ryan’s apology or explanation; he doesn’t want to talk to Ryan at all. He wants to be alone in the cold with his misery and if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll freeze. 

“But-” 

Dylan turns to face Ryan, who’s closer than Dylan expected. He seems calm, but Dylan knows him to well to fall for it. He can tell Ryan isn’t fine, and he fucking deserves whatever is making him unhappy. Dylan hopes it’s guilt. 

“How could you? How could you  _ bring her _ , when you knew I’d be here? You’re such a goddamn asshole, does your girlfriend know that?”

Anger flashes across Ryan’s face and he pushes Dylan backwards, further away from the door and into the shadows to the side, Dylan’s back pressing against the ice cold wall. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ryan says, his voice dangerously low, “and you’d fucking know that if you had bothered to pick up your phone any of the thousand times I called.” 

Dylan pushes at Ryan’s chest, trying to get some space. His head is spinning and he can’t tell if he’s being lied to. Ryan’s fingers are digging into his biceps, too hard, and Dylan hates that he doesn’t really want Ryan to let go. 

“What do you mean, she’s not your girlfriend?”

Ryan lets out a breath. “She’s an escort, Dylan. I’m paying her to be here and pretend.” 

Dylan can’t see Ryan’s face properly in the darkness, but he feels Ryan’s grip loosen, his hand move to settle against Dylan’s chest.

“I wanted to tell you, but you didn’t pick up the phone.” 

“You fucking broke up with me, I didn’t want to talk to you,” Dylan says and it comes out sounding extremely bitter. It reminds him that it doesn’t really change anything between them that Ryan decided it was a good idea to bring a fake girlfriend instead of a real one. It also means that Dylan’s right back were he started, with no idea about why Ryan ruined everything, and he doesn’t want to go back to wondering.

“If she’s not your girlfriend, why did you dump me?” 

Ryan sighs. “Remember those pictures we took in the summer? The last time we-”

“Yeah.”

Dylan doesn’t want to remember them. He spent the last three months looking at them on his computer, studying the soft, adoring smile on Ryan’s face, the way he kissed Dylan so deeply, and tried to figure out what happened that made Ryan decide he didn’t want Dylan anymore.

“Mom borrowed my laptop when I was home, and she saw one-”

“What?” Dylan asks, panic rising through him so quickly he feels sick with it. He can barely breathe 

“No, it’s fine! She couldn’t tell it was you, it’s fine. I promise, she doesn’t know,” Ryan says quickly, tripping over his words.

“Fuck,” Dylan says, voice shaky. “Are you sure?”

“It was - your face was pressed against my neck and the blanket covered everything. I got the laptop shut somehow and she asked who it was, and I just. I told her it was some guy I hooked up with. She was fine with it, she definitely didn’t recognize you.”

Dylan knows the picture. He knows what it looks like and without knowing it’s him, there’s probably no way to tell. “God damn it, Ryan. Fuck,” he says again. His heart is still beating too fast and he wants to blame Ryan, but he has the pictures on his laptop, too, this probably could have happened to him.

“Yeah. I freaked out pretty badly afterwards. I thought we had to stop, Dylan, so I just - I’m sorry.”

Dylan doesn’t know what to do with this or where it leaves them. He’s still angry, he’s still hurt. He understands that Ryan freaked out; Dylan just nearly had what felt like a heart attack in the split second he thought their mom had, somehow, found out. But he never would have left Ryan. He never would have let Ryan think he wasn’t loved anymore.

“Dyl,” Ryan says, small and pleading. He moves closer and leans his head against Dylan’s shoulder, his hands caught between them. “I am so sorry. I should have talked to you and I fucked up so badly. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Dylan feels something sad heave in his chest that makes him draw in a shaky breath. “God, you ruined me, Ry. I’ve been fucking miserable for  _ months _ ,” he says, voice thick and he realizes he’s crying, tears prickling in his eyes and running down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I am so sorry,” Ryan says. He takes Dylan’s face between his hands and gently wipes away the tears with his thumbs as they keep spilling uncontrollably.

“There’s no one else?” Dylan asks and he tastes salt on his own lips. A moment later, Ryan is kissing the taste away, and he says, “No, God no, Dylan,” before he kisses Dylan again, deeply, desperately. 

Dylan can’t kiss him back the way he wants to because he’s still crying; he can’t stop, not when the worst part of all this was the thought that Ryan didn’t love him anymore, that maybe he never loved Dylan at all. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ryan whispers and Dylan has already forgiven him, not for everything, but enough to press their lips together. He kisses Ryan until he feels like himself again for the first time since September, and has calmed down enough to notice how cold he is.

He shivers against Ryan. “We should go back in,” Dylan mumbles. He’s not sure how long they’ve been outside, but it’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking for them. Ryan nods and offers Dylan a small smile.

“You go in first, I need a minute,” Dylan says, gesturing at his face that probably looks puffy and red, until he remembers that it’s too dark for Ryan to really see.

“Okay,” Ryan says. He kisses Dylan one more time before he tears himself away.

Dylan stays, breathing slowly, until his heart is finally lighter than it’s been in a while, and he can’t feel his toes anymore. 

 

#

 

Dylan wakes up in the middle of the night to Ryan slipping under the covers. Dylan waits for Ryan’s hands to settle on him, but Ryan keeps his distance and Dylan makes an unhappy noise, giving away that he’s awake. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Ryan says quietly. Dylan has missed hearing his voice more than he thought possible. Ryan doesn’t move any closer, like he’s waiting for permission to touch Dylan. It reminds Dylan of how hesitant he was in the beginning, always worried about making Dylan do things he didn’t want. 

Dylan always wanted Ryan, though, all of him and no one else.

He turns around and reaches for Ryan, pulling on the first bit of fabric he gets between his fingers. “Ry, come here,” he says impatiently. It was bad enough that Ryan had to take Jenny home before he could come back and sneak into Dylan’s room. It’s been too long, and Dylan has no time for Ryan to be hesitant.

Ryan moves closer, still not touching Dylan, who huffs out a breath and takes matters into his own hands. He pushes himself up and straddles Ryan, leans down to kiss him, hard and demanding. He can still taste the remnants of Jenny’s lips there and he may be imagining it, but it drives him insane, even if it wasn’t real. It’s reassuring to feel Ryan’s hard-on through his jeans, perfect proof that he’s still Dylan’s.

Dylan shuffles back on his knees and gets rid of Ryan’s pants and briefs. He doesn’t waste any time getting his mouth on Ryan’s dick and revels in the noise Ryan makes, a low groan that is muffled quickly. His fingers find their way to Dylan’s hair and get tangled up in it, but without any of the pressure Dylan was expecting. It doesn’t matter much, since Dylan doesn’t need any encouragement to swallow Ryan down as far as he can, to make it sloppy and fast, the way Ryan likes it. Ryan curses under his breath and whispers Dylan’s name. Dylan looks up as he chokes himself on Ryan’s dick and sees Ryan biting his lip, his eyes hot on Dylan, full of want. 

Dylan needs Ryan. When Ryan ended things, a small part of Dylan thought that maybe it was for the best, their chance to stop this, but Dylan never truly believed it. It scares him a little, how lost he was without Ryan and how desperate he is to feel Ryan inside him again.

He pulls off and quickly grabs the lube from his nightstand drawer, wonders for a second if lube can go bad and decides that he doesn’t care. 

“Dylan, maybe we-” 

“No. I want you to fuck me,” Dylan says and pushes the lube into Ryan’s hands, gets rid of his clothes and pulls Ryan’s shirt off as well. He goes back to straddling Ryan, slides his dick against Ryan’s and leans down to suck at Ryan’s neck. He doesn’t even have to be careful about not leaving a bruise; everyone will just think Jenny was the one who marked Ryan up. Dylan resents that thought, so he sucks even harder, until he feels Ryan’s fingernails digging into his arm. Ryan’s fingers should be occupied elsewhere, and Dylan says, “Come on, Ry, please,” because he’s not above begging.

It’s too dark for Dylan to see Ryan’s face properly, but there’s a moment of silence that leaves too much room for the cracks in Dylan’s heart to grow again. Then, he hears the quiet clicking sound of the lube cap, and feels Ryan pressing against his rim with slick fingers. He lets out a breath and bends down to kiss Ryan, licks into his mouth as Ryan slowly, carefully works a finger inside.

Dylan tries to wait him out, because maybe he’s being a little too needy here, but Ryan is going about it as though Dylan has never had anything up his ass. It’s making Dylan frantic, and not in a good way. 

“It’s gonna take more than one,” he says and clenches around Ryan’s finger. That does get Ryan to add another, but he’s still going too slow and Dylan’s running out of patience. He quickly reaches around his back and pushes his index finger in, too, moves it at a much faster pace until Ryan gets it and finally starts really opening Dylan up.

“I’m good,” Dylan says after a few moments, before he’s entirely as prepared as he needs to be to take Ryan. He doesn’t want to wait any longer, is aching to be filled, and a little pain has never bothered him before. Ryan knows this, but he still asks, “Are you sure?” 

Dylan nods and slides his own finger out of his hole, pulling at Ryan’s hand to take it with him. He wants to get Ryan inside him quickly, but Ryan catches his wrist. 

“Dylan,” Ryan says, voice serious, “have you been with anyone else? It’s okay if you were, but we might need-”

“Yes,” Dylan lies. Ryan’s grip on his wrist tightens, betraying his words, and Dylan wants to make Ryan suffer a little, to see him jealous and hurt, to make him fuck Dylan with a condom when they’ve never used one before. 

He hears Ryan draw in a shaky breath, and Dylan’s need to hurt him passes. 

“No, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t  _ want  _ to fuck anyone else, in spite of everything,” he says. He knows Ryan’s not going to call him out on it, but he decides he’ll apologize for being a dick later.

He doesn’t wait for Ryan to come up with a reply, he just lines Ryan up and slides down on his dick, biting his lip to keep from making a sound. Ryan’s big and the stretch is painful, not enough lube or prep to make it easier. Dylan lets out a gasp, and Ryan’s hands stroke his thighs soothingly. 

Dylan doesn’t want soothing, so he starts riding Ryan through the pain, knowing it will subside soon enough. It gives him all the leverage and he likes that sometimes, but Ryan isn’t really doing much, the movements of his hips too careful, his hands resting gently where they’d leave bruises otherwise, like he’s afraid Dylan will break.

“God, Ryan,” Dylan says, frustration growing because all he needs is for them to go back to their messed up version of normal, for Ryan to screw the memory of the last few months out of him, “Stop fucking me like you’re sorry.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, he just stares at Dylan. Dylan stops moving, challenging Ryan to do something about it.

Ryan flips them over and leans down so he can whisper into Dylan’s ear. “You want this?” he asks and slides out of Dylan only to fuck back into him, hard. The bed makes a creaking sound that makes Dylan’s heart beat faster and Ryan doesn’t stop. He keeps going, fucking Dylan into the mattress with quick thrusts, fingers digging into the skin of Dylan’s hips to keep him where Ryan wants him. 

“Jesus _ fuck _ , Ryan,” Dylan groans, too loud, when Ryan shifts him to get a better angle and hits his prostate. Ryan shoves two fingers into Dylan’s mouth to shut him up and doesn’t stop or even slow the pace. It’s exactly what Dylan needs, the feeling of Ryan pinning him down with his weight, the rough edge to it that is always so good for both of them. He sucks on Ryan’s fingers, makes them slick until Ryan pulls his hand back to wrap around Dylan.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dylan pants, and Ryan presses their lips together to swallow everything else in a kiss as Dylan comes, shaking apart underneath Ryan. 

Ryan fucks him through it and Dylan whines into his mouth. He’s too sensitive now and Ryan keeps finding his prostate; it’s not gentle, not when Ryan’s so close to his own orgasm, his hips snapping with abandon. 

“It’s okay,” Dylan mumbles against Ryan’s lips and that sends Ryan over the edge. He comes and collapses on top of Dylan, buries his face in the crook of Dylan’s neck. Dylan wraps his arms around him and whispers, “We’re gonna be okay,” over and over again.

 

#

 

Dylan wakes up to Ryan’s mouth on his dick in the morning, and he feels like everything is back to the way it’s supposed to be by the time he comes down Ryan’s throat. Ryan kisses him breathless while Dylan returns the favor with an enthusiastic handjob and ends up with come all over his chest.

He’s reaching over to get the tissues off the nightstand and clean himself up when he hears Ryan make a soft, inquisitive sound. His hands flutter over the skin to the side of Dylan’s ribcage. 

“When did you get this?” he asks, brushing his thumb over the tattoo.

“Late August,” Dylan says and he keeps his voice light, even though he seriously considered just getting the thing removed about a week later. 

Ryan scoots closer to examine the intricate, circular design. It took Dylan a while to come up with it, and to make their initials within it subtle enough that they’re not noticeable right away. He thinks he’s succeeded, since no one in the locker room has asked too many questions about it. 

“Dylan,” Ryan says after a few moments, voice heavy with emotion, because he’s found the R and D, curled around each other intricately. He brushes a kiss against the tattoo. Dylan smiles and slides his fingers into Ryan’s hair.

He figures now is as good a time as any, and gets a small, unwrapped black box from his nightstand. He hands it to Ryan. “Here. That’s your real gift,” he explains. “I’m not gonna help you put it on, though.”

Ryan frowns, but he sits up against the headboard and pulls Dylan against him before he opens the box and lifts up the necklace that’s inside. The pendant is a thin, round plate with the design of Dylan’s tattoo engraved into it. 

Ryan has gone very still and Dylan can only see his profile. 

“Do you like it?” he asks, and presses a quick kiss to Ryan’s chin. 

“It’s beautiful, Dyls,” Ryan says, very quietly. “I love it.” His voice is full of something Dylan can’t place, until he turns in Ryan’s arms and sees the tears in his eyes. 

Dylan kisses him as they spill and he doesn’t stop until they hear the rest of the house waking up slowly, and Ryan slips away and into the bathroom. 

He shows up at the breakfast table with a hickey and a golden chain around his neck, and Dylan knows he’ll always love him, and that he’ll always be loved.


End file.
